A Body To Die For (25 page)

Sharona looked like she had just received a blow to the stomach. She clutched her purse tighter to her chest and started to shake her head. “No,” she whispered, “no, no.”

Savannah continued, “How much was in that envelope…the one you took out of Bill’s glove box after you shot him? Was there a lot of blood on it, Sharona? Did you get it all off, or will the CSU find traces on some of the bills?”

Sharona didn’t reply, but Savannah thought she had seen friendlier eyes on killers in a courtroom who had just been sentenced to death.

“Did it bother you at all to have to clean a man’s blood and brain matter off that envelope, Sharona? Or are you just a coldhearted bitch all the way through?”

“He dumped me. We were going to get married. We were going to have a life together, but he called and said it was over, that I was never to even try to contact him again. Can you imagine how much that hurt?”

“Oh, that’s going to be your defense? Crime of passion and all that crap? But that won’t work either. You’d planned to murder Bill even before he called you and told you the affair was over. Pinky says you phoned him earlier that day and reset Bill’s meet time to later. You did that so you could get there before Pinky, and shoot and rob Bill. You never intended to run away with the guy, just murder him and take his money. The jury’s gonna take a dim view of that.”

“You think I would kill somebody…just for money?”

“Oh, I think there was an element of payback in it, too. I’m sure that phone call from him was hard on your ego, but yeah, I’d say it was mostly for the money. You were intending to kill him that night, whether he was planning to run away with you or not.”

Savannah watched her closely, weighing every expression that flitted across her face. Sharona was teetering, but not over the edge just yet. She needed another little push.

So, Savannah asked her, “Where’s the gun that you shot him with? We’ll find that, too, you know. And when we match the ballistics on it. They’ll be able to prove that your 9mm gun shot the bullet we found at the scene. And there you go! Guilty as charged on all counts!”

That did it.

Sharona reached into her purse and pulled out a Ruger 9mm pistol. She pointed it at Savannah. “Here it is,” she said, her voice as emotionless and cold as Savannah had ever heard. “Right here. This is what I shot him with.”

Savannah looked down the barrel of the weapon and nodded solemnly. “Yes, that definitely looks like it would do the job.”

Sharona glanced around, as though making sure no one else was present. “I can’t let you live now…now that you know.”

“I understand completely,” Savannah said. “I wouldn’t expect you to. If you could kill a man for money, a man you’d made love with, it shouldn’t be that hard to kill me, too.”

“Actually, I sort of liked you. You were nice, bringing me here, the cookie basket and all that. But you shouldn’t have been so smart, figuring it all out like that.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what I get paid for.”

Savannah reached inside her jacket, put her hand around the butt of her own gun, and started to pull it out.

“No! Don’t!” Sharona shouted as she pulled the Ruger’s trigger.

Savannah smiled. “And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” she said, “that click you just heard, was the sound of Ms. Dubarry attempting to shoot me with an empty gun.”

Savannah pointed the Beretta at Sharona with her right hand and pointed to the phone with her left. “And you, my dear, have just been recorded, confessing to murder in the first degree. Oh, and by the way…” She nodded toward the crossword book. “…21 across is ‘conviction.’ What do you think, is that some sort of omen? I’m sure my Granny Reid would think so.”

“Savannah, you look positively stunning in that gown,” John told her. “The blue satin brings out those sapphire eyes of yours and the drape of the fabric accentuates the curves of your figure so that—”

“Oh, stop. This old thing? You’re just a silken-tongued lad, you are.” She leaned close to him and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Now, what was that you were saying about my figure…?”

They laughed, as she took his arm and he escorted her around the paradise that had, only hours ago, been her backyard.

The festivities had begun before noon, in the form of a party rental company, bearing an Arabian-style tent with sumptuous carpets, satin cushions, and faux-fur throws.

Then a florist appeared and filled the erected tent, as well as the rest of the yard, with sprays of pink and lavender roses as well as at least a hundred white candles.

Next, the caterer arrived and by dinnertime, silver trays, laden with cheese, fruit, olives, shrimp kabobs, mushroom strudel, and crostini, covered the tabletops. The exotic aroma of Bisteeya Moroccan Chicken Pie filled the air. And in the place of honor in the center of the tent, a fountain was flowing with warm, Belgian chocolate, surrounded with fresh fruits and other sweets for dipping.

A violinist, a flutist, and a cellist performed classical music as Savannah, Tammy, and Marietta descended the back stairs in their evening attire.

Savannah wore a deep blue silk wrap gown, Tammy a bright green, full-length kimono, and Marietta her tiger-striped, stretchy dress that, as advertised, was cut down to here and up to there.

All three of them had “big hair.” As “big” as Marietta, a teasing comb, and a can of hair spray could get it.

They looked magnificent.

And so did their escorts. Ryan and John were at the foot of the stairs waiting for them, looking simply delicious in their tuxedos, with roses in their hands for each woman.

There was time for a few dances before the other guests began to arrive.

“Is Dirko going to wear a tux?” Tammy asked Savannah.

“Absolutely.”

“I don’t believe it. I’ve never seen him in anything but a T-shirt…oh…and the maids-a-milkin’ costume you made him wear that Christmas.”

“He asked me what he owed us for helping him with the case. That was my price.”

And when Dirk did appear, wearing not only a tux, but an
opera
tux, complete with white cummerbund and white wing-collar shirt, Savannah thought her heart would stop.

“Lord have mercy,” she said as she hurried across the lawn to greet him, her hand on her chest, “you clean up go-o-od, boy! You look plumb fit to eat!”

“Well, enjoy it while you can,” he grumbled, “’cause this damned thing is friggen uncomfortable. You’ll never get me in one again.”

She glanced around quickly, to see if anyone was watching. They weren’t, so she wrapped her arms around his neck, stood on tiptoe, and gave him a warm, long, sweet kiss on the lips. When she finally pulled back, she flashed him a dimpled smile, tapped him on the chest with her forefinger, and said, “Yeah? Well…we’ll see about that.”

She left him, stunned, his mouth hanging open and walked back to join Tammy and John who were nibbling on crème fraiche and caviar on cucumber slices.

“Have the guests of honor arrived yet?” Tammy asked.

“Not yet,” Savannah replied. “But they sounded so pleased to be invited, I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

“That must have been most fulfilling, restoring a mother’s and son’s relationship,” John said. “Was it difficult, convincing young Tanner that his mom was innocent, in spite of her confession?”

“Not at all. I explained to him that, in her mind, she thought she was protecting her son. A mother will even confess to murder to save her child. She really believed he’d done it. Once she found out about Sharona, she denied it all.”

Dirk had joined them, a glass of white wine in his hand—also a first.

“Well, aren’t you suave and debonair tonight?” Tammy said, admiring his physique-flattering tuxedo.

“Quite sharp, old boy,” John agreed. “Is that a Hugo Boss?”

“No, it’s my brother-in-law’s. He just got married, and he hadn’t returned it to the rental place yet, so I borrowed it from him.”

“Ah, I see.” John developed a sudden coughing fit and had to excuse himself for a moment.

“I never really believed that confession anyway,” Dirk said, anxious to stir the conversation to his own area of expertise. “Rachel never could tell me where the murder weapon was. She wouldn’t even tell me what part of his body got shot.”

“There are a few things I don’t understand.” Tammy licked some caviar off the end of her finger. “How could Sharona walk up to Bill like that and him not know it was her?”

“It was a moonless night,” Savannah told her, “and that area is really dark. No streetlights or artificial lighting of any kind. She could see him when he opened the glove compartment because of the little light inside it. But she was standing in the dark. Besides, he thought he was meeting Pinky or one of his flunkies. He never would have expected it to be her.”

“And the phone calls,” Tammy continued. “We know it was Sharona he was phoning when he made that call in front of Clarissa. But how about the other call, the mushy one that Tanner overheard him make in the garage, when he told someone he wanted to meet them when he was done with Pinky? Who was that?”

“That call was to Rachel,” Savannah said. “That’s what makes all this ugly business even sadder. Apparently, he really was in love with Rachel and leaving Clarissa to make a home with her and Tanner. If Sharona hadn’t killed him, the three of them would probably be in Las Vegas together right now.”

Dirk sniffed. “Well, before you make this guy ‘Man of the Year,’ remember that he was juggling women right and left, and had a major gambling addiction. He wasn’t exactly family material.”

“That’s true,” Savannah said. “They’re probably better off without him in the long run.”

“How is Ruby Jardin?” John asked, rejoining them with his wineglass refilled. “Was she terribly disappointed that Clarissa didn’t turn out to be the killer?”

“Terribly,” Savannah said. “In fact, she was so disappointed that I sent Tammy to the bank right away to cash her check. I think she’ll get over it, though, once she realizes that she really did want to hear the truth about her son. She really did want justice for him.”

“But for right now, she’s pissed?” Dirk asked.

“Oh, big-time.”

Over her shoulder, she heard Marietta saying, “Why now, don’t you look just cute as a dumplin’ with all that curly red hair, and in that grownup man’s tuxedo…”

“Oh, no. They’re here and Marietta’s at ’em!” Savannah turned and rushed out of the tent.

She found Marietta gushing over a very embarrassed, formally dressed Tanner Morris. He was the picture of adolescent awkwardness in his tuxedo. His only youthful expression consisted of a pair of suspenders with skulls and crossbones on them.

Rachel was dressed in a simple black dress with a waist-long strand of simple white pearls…New York elegance all the way. She looked more relaxed and happier than Savannah had ever seen her.

She even gave Savannah a hug and air kiss for a greeting.

Looking around the lavishly decorated yard, she said, “Wow, do you guys always celebrate like this when you close a case?”

“No. This is all a lovely gift from two of my dearest friends.” She laced her arm through Tanner’s. “Come along, and I’ll introduce you to them. And after that, you can raid the chocolate fountain.”

Tanner lit up. “A chocolate
fountain
?”

“Young man. You haven’t lived yet. But you’re about to experience life to its fullest.”

An hour later, Savannah was dancing with Dirk, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder, his arm warm around her waist, holding her close.

“This is almost worth getting dressed up for,” he said, pulling her even a bit closer.

“Wear a pair of three-inch heels for a few hours, buddy,” she told him, “then tell me about ‘uncomfortable.’”

“Those two are having fun,” he said, nodding toward Tanner, who was enthralled with Tammy and had been discussing computers with her for the past half hour. Rachel was between Ryan and John, and the three of them were embroiled in a hot, literary discussion.

“Yes, they are. I’m glad,” Savannah said. “They have some healing to do, too.”

“Did you invite Clarissa to this?”

“I did. I wasn’t at all surprised when she turned me down. I don’t know if I could forgive my sister for something like that, either. It’s a bit much to ask.”

“At least Clarissa isn’t going to press charges against her for the blackmail.”

“Yes, but that’s as much to Clarissa’s advantage as it is Rachel’s. Clarissa is going to have enough bad press, just explaining how her husband got shot by a girlfriend while paying off his cockfighting debts to a bookie. I shudder to think what the
True Informer
is going to do to her.”

He laughed, “Yeah, I’m sure you’re sick about it.”

“Clarissa’s not as bad as I thought. She’s a bitch, but that’s not an altogether bad thing to be.”

“If you say so.” He nodded toward Marietta, who was sitting, dejected beside the fountain, drowning her sorrows in Belgian chocolate. “And speaking of sisters, how is yours?”

“Cranky. She had it out today with Vidalia on the phone, but in the end, they made up. She promised not to ever wear jeans like Vi’s in front of Butch again. Vi apologized for calling her a ‘godforsaken, brazen hussy slut.’”

“Whoa, tough words.”

“We Reid women aren’t known for holding back. I’m taking her to Santa Barbara tomorrow. We’ll go to the pier, hang out on the beach, and she can try out her new red bikini as a pickup tool. I’ll make it all up to her, see that she has a nice vacation after all.”

She looked up at him and saw that he was smiling down at her, his eyes soft and kind. She had the distinct impression he hadn’t been listening to her, which was nothing unusual.

But for tonight, that was okay. She was in a forgiving mood.

He really did look gorgeous in that tux.

“What were you thinking about just then?” she asked him.

“Actually, my mind had drifted,” he admitted. “I was thinking how nice you smell.”

“That’s Marietta’s hair spray. She darned near drowned me in it this afternoon.”

“No, it’s not hair spray. You always smell like this.”

“Oh, thank you.”